Ravenous

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"BODOH! SETAN!!!"

Those foul words emanated from the porch of the house, causing Salwani to rush out to see what was going on. As she arrived at the door she saw her husband getting out of his car, cursing and shouting towards the sky. He had just got home from work.

"Heyh! Abang Zali! What is going on?! Keep it down, our neighbors will hear!” she said to her balding husband. Her husband, Razali, shook his head and pointed towards his car, a brand new BMW 5 Series.

"Those goddamn crows! I just washed my car and look!” he pointed towards the roof and bonnet of his car. There were smatterings of bird droppings. Razali looked furious. He had always hated crows. "Rats of the skies", he always says.

Salwani shook her head and prompted her husband to calm down. "Enough, it's only droppings, you can just wash them away. Besides, you're parked beneath the porch, they won't poop there", she said. However, Razali was already spraying water on his beloved new car and scrubbing with a cloth, his mouth moving, no doubt cursing the damned avian flock. Behind him, the caws of the black birds were heard, coming from the trees. Salwani left her husband to tend to his car.

Razali was a businessman who had just made it big a year ago. He dealt in supplying raw, halal chicken, and had started small about 6 years back. But now his company had a deal supplying chicken to a major food chain, and he was just beginning to reap the seeds of his hard work. And work hard he did. Now, with the money he had made, he and his wife had managed to move into this brand new house in Puchong, and he had been able to afford a brand new BMW, his first ever luxury car. At 47 years old, Razali felt he had finally gotten it good. A new house, a new car, a happy family; even his two children were now studying overseas, with their fees fully funded by himself. He was comfortable and happy.

Except for these goddamn crows!! He thought furiously. He finished wiping his car and prayed that the miserable carrion eaters wouldn't soil the glistening paint. Before he had moved here, he had lived in Klang, famous for its crow problem. He thought he had finally managed to get away from those birds, but apparently they were everywhere he went.

He went inside the house to see that Salwani had already prepared dinner, which sat beneath a saji. He lifted the saji up, and was satisfied with what he saw: kangkung belacan, gulai lemak daging salai, ikan goreng and sambal belacan.

"Sal, let's eat", he said to his wife, who was in the kitchen. She walked out and handed him a mug of coffee.

"Don't you want to change and shower first?"

Razali sipped his coffee and shook his head. "I'm starving. Getting angry at birds makes me hungry". He sat down at the dinner table while Salwani just smiled and went to get rice. They were having dinner when he heard the caws of crows, and nearby as well. Salwani instantly noticed the look of irritation on her husband's face.

"Let them be, they're not bothering us", she said. She was well aware of Razalis hatred of the birds. In fact, Razali had once volunteered to shoot them on behalf of MPK when they were living in Klang. She had asked him once, why he hated crows so much.

"They stink, they're noisy, and they're dirty. They bring diseases. They're flying rats", he had said. In fact, his hatred for crows probably stems from deeper, a childhood memory. He has a vague memory of being attacked by a murder of crows when he was very-very young. He had probably somehow threatened the birds and they had attacked him. He must have been about 4 or 5 years old. He vaguely remembered black shapes around him and the peck of hard beaks on his body. Anyways, it had left an impression. He had hated crows ever since.

Razali angrily finished his dinner. Even the cawing of crows from outside somehow managed to raise his temper. He mumbled beneath his breath, uttering expletives directed at the crows outside. He spent the rest of the evening seated at the wheel of his new car.

He loved the BMW. He had dreamt of owning a piece of German luxury since the days he started working. He had watched enviously at drivers of BMW's on the road passing him by in his cheap Proton a few years back. Now he had one of his own. He was seemingly infatuated with it. Salwani just let him be, knowing how much he loved the car. And he had earned it with his blood, sweat and tears. He caressed the leather interior, the tactile switchgear and wonderfully sculpted steering wheel. Then he got out and admired the lines of the car. He had ordered his BMW in a navy blue color. It was stunningly beautiful to him. He wasn't about to let a bunch of sky-rats ruin it.

The next morning as he was backing his car out of the porch, he rolled his window down to say goodbye to his wife who was standing at the door. As the car became parallel to the road, he stuck his arm out to wave, and that's when plop! A green-white gunk of bird shit dropped on his sleeve. Instantly he was furious. He parked his BMW, got out ranting curses and threw rocks at the trees, to no avail. Salwani had to calm him down as he changed shirts and afterwards angrily sped off.

A few days later, he was sitting in his garden, watching his wife tend to her collection of orchids. In his hands was a piece of biscuit, and he was casually munching on it while chatting to Salwani. Then, just as he was about to take a bite, a black winged shape came swooping down and just plucked the biscuit out from his hand. He managed to glimpse the bird flying off and perching on a tree about 30 yards outside his house. Again, he broke into a hissy fit, cursing and stomping and yelling. And again, Salwani, who was embarrassed should some of their neighbors see this, had to calm him down.

The crows continued to torment Razali. He felt as if he was being picked on. His car kept getting shat on; the birds left feathers on his porch. Once, a crow had even stolen food from his kitchen.

Goddamn birds, he cursed. Goddamn smart-f*cking birds.

He called the local authorities, complaining about the crows. When they came to investigate, however, there were none of the birds around. And when the authorities questioned his neighbors, none of them had any complaints about crows. So they had let the matter be.

Goddamn suits, Razali cursed.

This went on for several weeks. Somehow he managed to blame everything on the crows. He even claimed the crows were deliberately targeting him, tormenting him. Nonsense, Salwani had told him. Aren't you over-reacting?

Razali dismissed his wife. He bought a professional grade sling shot and began to practice, hitting cans with ball bearings. Pretty soon he became good at it. His wife however, was starting to worry.

"Abang Zali, isn't it too much? Buying a slingshot? What next? Guns?” she said one night when Razali was hitting cans in the garden.

"If need be, hell yes", he had replied, and continued to pound the cans. Salwani looked at the dented cans, and she had to concede that he was remarkably accurate with the weapon. She figured it was only a matter of time before he began shooting the crows from their roosts.

Personally, she never saw the crows as problematic. She tolerated them. They were pests, sure, but she knew that, like most pests, if she kept clean and tidy, they would eventually realize that their food source, i.e rubbish, was gone and pretty soon they would be too. Razali, however, was taking it personal. To him, the crows were evil creatures born to torment him. They dirtied his car, stole his food, and interrupted his peace. Razali wanted to take the fight to the birds. He saw it as a crusade. Almost like an ethnic cleansing.

One morning, Salwani heard her husband laughing from outside the house. She looked out the door and saw he was shooting at the birds; in fact there were 4 dead crows at his feet. Some of the neighbors who saw him just shook their heads and looked away, as if concluding that he was a madman. Salwani rushed out to meet him.

"Abang Zali! Stop it!” she said.

"Huh? What? Why? I'm taking care of a problem here. Be quiet!” he said. He continued to shoot at the birds, almost at random. The birds were now flying away, well aware of the threat. Finally Razali stopped. He looked at the dead birds at his feet. He picked them up and threw them inside the large drain behind his house, where they were carried away by water. That night Salwani begged him to stop, saying that he was taking it too far. Again Razali dismissed her. She sighed.

Then one day he accidentally broke a neighbor’s window with his slingshot. After an embarrassing public argument, Razali finally promised to pay for the damages and to not shoot at the crows. Besides, there weren't that many left now anyway. He felt satisfied. He hoped they would not return.

One day he heard the chirp of birds coming from his garden. Curious, he went to look for the source of the noise and found two crow chicks on the grass. They were featherless and grey. They looked like tiny vultures, Razali thought. When he approached them they became rigid, and quiet in fear. He glanced upwards from the position of the chicks, and in a tree which was outside his house he saw the outlines of a nest. The chicks have obviously fallen out. Then he noticed the parents of the chicks at the tree; they were anxiously watching him from above. One of the parents had a white streak across the head.

Razali glanced at the chicks, then at the nest and parents. He stared at the chicks for a long time. The parents were not approaching them because he was there.

"Abang Zali", a voice called out. It was Salwani standing at the door. "What are you doing?"

He looked over and said "Nothing. I'm coming inside". When his wife went back inside, he grabbed a rock his wife used to balance some flowerpots. He glanced at the parent birds, and suddenly smashed the rock on top of the chicks on the grass. He heard a wet scrunching sound and peered beneath the rock; the chicks were now pulp. He grinned, almost laughed, and went inside.

So Razali did not realize the parent crows finally flying down from their perch. Together, they removed the rock, pushing it with their beaks and feet. They cawed alternately, as if talking. One of the birds prodded the crushed bodies with its beak. It cawed at the bodies, as if trying to coax them back to life. When that clearly failed, it let out a long screech. Then its mate joined it, screeching high. After a moment they flew off.

---

Razali awoke the next day feeling good. To a normal person, perhaps, the brutality in which he crushed the helpless chicks would have been deemed inhumane and cruel. To Razali, however, it was an act of public service. He honestly thought that the less crows in the world, the better. So when he had woken this morning, he took a shower and had a big breakfast. Even Salwani was lulled into a sense of joy looking at her happy husband. Razali cocked his ears towards the windows and doors and, much to his delight, heard no caws or screeches of crows outside. The parents must have left the nest then, he thought. Nice.

He glanced at his watch and motioned to Salwani that he had better get ready. Today was an important day. He was to go on a business trip to Perak, traveling north. He would travel alone, and drive up the 200 miles or so. It was a trip he was relishing; this would be the first time he would take his BMW on a long distance drive. He was eager to find out the dynamic qualities of his car. So he said goodbye to his wife and went outside to his car. He put on his shoes and suddenly paused.

There were two crows on his car. Annoyed and angry, he shouted and shooed them away. The birds fluttered off the car and onto the fence. They did not caw. Instead they seemed to be staring at him, cocking their heads the way birds do, the movements darty and sudden. Razali was a little disturbed; the chicks parents? He thought. It did not matter. He shrugged it off, got in the car and drove out from his housing area.

He made his way to the highway exit. He was trying to enjoy his car, except he couldn't. He seemed to notice there were crows along the side of the highway. Though it was probably normal, the fact that there seemed to be a far larger number than usual bugged him. He even saw one flying behind his car in his rear-view mirror, again as if they were following him.

You're just being paranoid and feeling a little guilty, he told himself. He drove on until he reached a petrol station. He stopped to refuel and buy some drinks and snacks for the journey ahead. Razali parked his car and went inside the station shop to get his snacks and pay for the petrol. He walked back to the car and suddenly paused.

There was a murder of crows beside the BMW. He shuddered a bit; he even thought about the collective noun for crows: a murder. It frightened him a little. There were about 7 of them right now, just a few feet from his car. Several of them cawed ominously when they spotted him. Then a curious pump attended shooed them off, and for a moment Razali was relieved. He went to his car and refueled.

He whistled as he pumped fuel into the BMW. In truth he suddenly felt nervous, though he did not want to admit why. Then he felt a shadow fall on his shoulder. He glanced up. A crow stood on the pump, looking down at him. Again the bird cocked its head from side to side, like it was measuring Razali up. Razali swiped his hand and the bird flew off. Then it landed on the ground several feet beside him. To Razali's growing horror, the murder of crows had come back. They just stood there, eyeing him. Only their heads moved.

Stop it! Razali said in his mind. Go away!

But the birds stayed put. Razali hurriedly finished filling up and got in the car. He gunned his engine and sped off. He felt nervous and slightly frightened. Were the birds following him? Had they somehow learned that he had killed part of them? Nonsense, Razali told himself. He switched on the car stereo and tried to relax.

Which he did after about an hour or so. There was light traffic on the highway. He began to feel easier, and finally began to savour the handling and ride of his BMW. He attempted to go as fast as he can, slowing down when an obstacle came onto his path. Razali grinned. Five hundred thousand ringgit well spent, he thought, and gave a pat on the back to himself.

The highway soon came into the mountains, where it snaked through like a river. Razali was now cruising, taking his time, enjoying the view of Gua Tempurung to his left. That's when the first shadow flew overhead. It was so quick Razali barely noticed it. Then a second shadow flew ahead, and a third. Then Razali began noticing. A few more shadows passed by. Razali leaned forward on his wheel to see what in the world they were. As he looked outside his windscreen, he saw. And his blood froze inside his veins.

Crows. They were darting in and about the car. Razali was dumbfounded and scared; how could birds keep up to his car? Then the cawing began. First it sounded like white noise and static to his ear. Then the caws became deafening. Soon they filled the air. Razali glanced at his rear view mirror and almost screamed. What he saw was a dark cloud, black and pregnant with malice. But this cloud was not a result of the evaporation of water; it was a cloud of crows, thousands of them. They were flying at tremendous speed, catching up to his BMW. Razali slammed his throttle, trying to outrun the birds.

"What in God's name is going on!!!” he yelled in his car. He managed to make some side glances and saw that the few other motorists did not seem to notice the cloud. Razali decided he did not care. He sped up the twisty highway, risking an accident. He wanted to go faster to escape that cloud, but the road conditions were preventing him.

Suddenly the light seemed to dim; Razali watched as the cloud of crows blotted out the sun around him, surrounding his car. His vehicle was now surrounded by crows, all cawing, flying on some demonic wind; some of them began pecking his windows, and the glass begin to chip and crack. Razali heard the screech of claws on his metal roof, and the pecks from thousands of hard, black beaks. He screamed in fright. The crows now blocked his vision, and he steered the car wildly on the road. He felt his BMW bump into the railing and perhaps other cars, but he didn't care. He was losing it; fear and fright and incomprehension threatened to drive him mad.

Suddenly the crows dispersed and for a split second Razali felt relieved; then he felt that the wheels of his car were no longer connected to the asphalt but were soaring through the air. Through the windscreen he first saw the horizon, and then as the car nose tipped downwards he saw the forest below. His car plummeted perhaps 150 feet downwards, hitting the side of the cliff and rolling over, smashing onto trees and rocks. Razali was thrown around like a rag doll inside the car, and then suddenly squashed as the airbags came to work. Then the car abruptly crashed at the bottom of the hill, turned into a twisted pile of metal.

A few minutes passed. Amazingly, Razali was conscious. He tried to move and found every bit of his body hurt. He felt warm blood flow from his head, wetting his shoulders and face. He could not move his legs. He tasted salty blood in his mouth and spat it out, along with some teeth. He breathed in shallow gasps. He somehow summoned all his strength and slowly, tortuously wriggled out of the wreckage. He finally managed to do it, and lay still on the ground. He was in tremendous pain. It was a miracle he was even alive.

His eyes darted around, looking for signs of the crows. There were none. Perhaps he had fallen asleep at the wheel and however briefly dreamt it all? Maybe he had been hallucinating? There weren't any crows around. The skies were clear, and the only bird sounds were the nice ones, of sparrows and maybe jungle doves, and the buzzing of cicadas.

No matter, he thought. Someone must surely have seen him crash. Help would arrive soon. All he had to do was stay still.

Then from the corner of his eye he saw something land beside him. He painfully twisted his injured head to look; scaly, black feet. Coal black feathers. A crow. It looked at him with a malignant glow in its beady eyes.

Razali tried to shoo it away. Carrion eaters, he thought. The fear came bursting back inside him. Suddenly the air around him seemed to vibrate. A low, steady throbbing filled his ears. He realized what they were: wings. Soon enough the skies darkened with hundreds of winged shapes. The crows began to land all around him. Razali tried to scream but couldn't. He voided himself, feeling the hot flow of urine wet his pants, and he smelled the stink of his bowels being released.

The crows began to move towards him, sensing he was at his weakest. To the crows, Razali was now just another dying animal, waiting to be reincorporated into the circle of life. A few of them began pecking at his wounded body, and he felt a hard beak pulling away at a piece of his own muscle. He tried to struggle but couldn't.

The birds began to peck and claw at his body, literally eating him alive. He felt agonizing pain as his muscles were being torn by hard beaks and tiny claws. The sounds of the cawing birds shattered his soul, terrifying him. He could not even move. He was being torn apart in small pieces, bit by bit, by a murder of crows.

Then suddenly one of the crows lighted on his chest. He managed to lift his head to look at it. This crow had a strange white streak on its head. Razali looked directly into its eyes, and in them he saw what was inevitable; his own death.

----------------------

The Strange Story of Ishak and His Three Wishes: A Comedy.

----

Ishak Idris is not the best of men.

At 36, he was unmarried, rented a room in an already crowded flat with 8 others who were all still students, and did not hold a steady job. Perhaps he could blame his bachelorhood on his not-so-enticing looks; he was short, flabby and had the complexion of a 15 year old teenager who did not use facewash. He was also rude; perhaps his last relationship was 15 years ago. He rarely kept a job because he was lazy and tended to slack off. He no longer has any family; his parents died years ago to disease, and he is estranged with any extended family he still has. He dropped out of school at 15, simply not bothering to keep up with education. In fact he hated school.

What Ishak was good at, however, was getting into trouble. He has had several brush ins with the police; twice for theft, once for assault, several times for 'disturbing the peace', and the list goes on. He was in a Pusat Serenti in his early twenties; got released only to relapse into a world of intoxicants. He was a drunk, shunned by his peers (who numbered a pathetic few), and tolerated in his rented flat only because he was rarely in the house anyway.

He manages to just earn a living doing odd jobs; driving lorries, cleaning toilets, sweeping streets, mowing lawns. In spite of that, he somehow manages to gamble whatever is left of his money as well. Not for wins either. He's never won a bet. Perhaps the outside observer would say that Ishak has spent most of his 36 years betting on the wrong horse. And dog. And numbers.

One of the few people who seemingly tolerates him is Kahar. Kahar is a small time drug dealer, working indepently but often for one of the many gangs in Kuala Lumpur. A fellow rehab relapser, it was Kahar who first introduced drugs to Ishak. Now, perhaps the worst thing about Ishak's drug problem was that he rarely had the money to purchase them. Despite the temptations, Ishak has amazingly ignored the urge to steal. He knew he would get caught easily if he did. So often he borrowed. And garnered debts. And he did not borrow from banks either.

This night, sitting in a mamak shop near Jalan Pahang, Ishak and Kahar were having chendol. It was Kahar who had invited Ishak for the treat.They were talking about life in general.. which was actually more of Ishak blaming people for his misfortunes, and Kahar listening patiently, even if he was not really paying attention.

"Eh by the way", Ishak said, wiping his mouth. "Do you have some barang for me?"

Kahar rubbed his neck with a grimace on his face. "Ada. But you can't afford it.."

"Ahh Kahar..", Ishak said, smiling and putting a hand on Kahar's shoulders. "It's not like we're not used to this.. Just lend me the stuff and I'll pay you back later when I have money"

Kahar shrugged. "And where do you think you have the money?"

"Don't worry my friend. I'll borrow some cash from Tommy". Tommy was the neighbourhood loan shark, with connections to a large, feared gang. Many have suffered the consequences of not being able to repay his loans. In spite of this, Ishak seemed casual about it.

"Tommy and I go back a long way", he said. "I'm sure he'll lend me some cash"

Kahar looked at Ishak uneasily. He edged his chair closer to Ishak, making the man look at him awkwardly, as if the gesture was somehow intimate. Not that Ishak would know what intimacy was.

"You see Ishak..", Kahar said. "That's the thing.. you've been borrowing a lot from Tommy, and he's been strangely lenient about your repayments... but..."

"But? But what?", Ishak said, suddenly wary and suspicious.

"Well.. I went to see him the other day to borrow some money myself. Then he asked me about you, and if I had seen you recently. I told him no.."

"Then? What did Tommy want?"

"It seems that he was, like, book-keeping or something, when he realized he had a large portion of money missing.."

Ishak was catching the drift. He swallowed, and asked Kahar. "It's the money I owe him isn't it?"

Kahar nodded. "Yes. RM34 000. Over 6 years. And that's not counting the 'bunga'.."

Ishak paled at the amount mentioned by Kahar. RM 34 000 was a huge amount of money for a man like Ishak, who had no steady job and therefore income. And if he added Tommy's interest to that figure.. he was looking at a figure of at least RM50 000. Maybe even more, if Tommy decided so. Ishak thought a moment; where had all the money gone? What did he spend that amount on? Drugs. Gambling. Women. Like a rockstar, only without the multi-million selling albums or talent.

"Tommy was furious.. he's coming for you, that's what he said..", Kahar said. "But it makes me wonder, why was he so lenient with you?"

Ishak again swallowed, hard. "Sometimes I do odd jobs for him.. Somehow his mind must have slipped and thought I was working for him. Maybe. I don't know.."

"Well, whatever it is, he's not going to play Mr Nice anymore..", Kahar said, shaking his head. He had heard of the horrible beatings and mutilations perpertrated by Tommy and his men towards the unfortunate who did not have the means to pay him back.

"He's coming for you", Kahar said. He finished his cendol and beckoned for them to leave. Ishak had gone pale all over. Like Kahar, he too was well aware of the atrocities that had been done on the people who went MIA with their loans from Tommy. He just nodded and got up, leaving Kahar to pay for their cendols. They got on Kahar's motorbike, and sped off for Ishak's flat.

It was dark and quiet when they reached the flats. Ishak got off the motorbike.

"I'd watch my back and start looking for money if I were you", Kahar said as Ishak stepped off the motorbike and handed Kahar his helmet.

"Easier said than done", Ishak said. He was sweating bullet sweat. He felt cold and terrified. If Kahar said that Tommy was coming for him, that meant dangerous times ahead, unless he magically appeared with at least fifty grand.

"What do you think I should do?" , Ishak said. Then as if on cue, a rock came hurtling out from about 20 yards to the side and hit Ishak on his temple. He fell to the ground, his hand touching where the rock had hit. It hurt like hell, and he saw stars. Kahar looked stunned as suddenly a group of four people approached them. They were young, muscular and menacing looking. The one walking ahead of the other three was clearly the leader. He stank of beer and cigarettes.

"You stay still there. Move and you'll get it as well", the leader said with a heavy accent. He picked Ishak off the ground easily.

"You", he said. Ishak looked at the man's scarred face and trembled.

"Tommy wants his money. RM60 000. He wants it in three days time", the tough man said.

"Three days?!", Ishak said, looking at Kahar as if for support. Kahar just sat still on his bike, with one of the thugs by his side. Ishak saw that most of them were carrying weapons; he saw a baseball bat, glimpsed a knife and maybe even a hammer on one of the men. Kahar looked terrified. He was a dealer, but not a violent one, clearly.

Ishak shook his head, trying to reason. "Three days is not enough time", he said and that was when the lead thug punched him in the gut and face. Ishak fell reeling to the floor.

"Three days", the lead thug said again. "If in three days Tommy doesn't get his money, we cut off your hands. You try to run away, we cut off your head. We're watching you. Get it?"

Ishak nodded quickly, too much in pain to say anything. In his head he hoped the man was just bluffing, but he knew that the thug was dead serious. He had seen it before; a Pakistani factory worker, owing RM20 000 to Tommy, decided to leave the country. But Tommy's men caught up. The Pakistani's headless body made national news when it was finally found in a state of bad decomposition in an oil palm estate.

The lead thug pulled Ishak's head up by the hair, and said again "Three days". Then he spat in Ishak's face and slapped him. Finally he beckoned for the other thugs to leave. As soon as they left, Kahar rushed to Ishak's side, helping the man up.

"I'm screwed, I'm screwed", Ishak kept on repeating. He sat himself on the curbside whilst Kahar stood beside him.

"Where am I going to find RM60 000?? In three days?!", Ishak said, almost screaming.

"Can't you hide? Or run away?", Kahar asked.

"No.. that guy said Tommy is watching me. And I have every reason to believe it's true".

The two men sat for a moment, thinking of various ways for Ishak to obtain the money. Ishak knew he couldn't bargain his way out of this one. By some miracle Tommy The Loan Shark had already been lenient for six years. That was too long a time. Ishak had no other way out but to repay his debt. But how? Robbery? Ishak was not good enough. Scams? There was no time. Ishak had no answer. Then Kahar said something.

"There is one way.. but it's strange, and I don't think you'd believe me anyway", Kahar said in a cautious voice. Ishak looked at him, his eyes full of hope.

"What? What is it? Just tell me dammit! I don't care if it's strange", Ishak said, impatient. He really had no other choice, and was willing to listen to any suggestion on how to get RM60 000.

"Well.." Kahar hesitated. "There is this place in Kemensah, behind the Zoo Negara, where you could get anything you ever wanted.. but it's tricky.. and frightening"

"Just tell me; it has got to be worth a try", Ishak said.

"Are you sure? You believe in shit?"

"I'd believe anything right now"

So Kahar told him the place and the way. Ishak listened with intent, at first unbelieving. But then the spirit of desperation and the fear of being murdered caused him to follow up on Kahar's peculiar advice anyway. An hour later, Kahar left him, saying good luck in a wary voice. Ishak watched his 'friend' leave, and went up to his flat. He sat at his doorway for a few minutes, thinking. Then he got up and went down to a pay phone. He called Tommy.

"Tommy", he said over the phone.

"Yes.", a soft voice spoke on the other line.

"I'll get your money in three days", Ishak said, and hung up.

Two nights later, Ishak found himself on a borrowed motorbike heading into Kemensah, a small village with a river running through it. It was well past midnight; the small kampung road was quiet and eerie, the only sounds being his motorbike and the constant chirrup of insects. It was dark, the only illumination coming from his headlight. He rode on the road until he found what he was looking for; a large tree, with a girth perhaps 6 feet or more. He stopped his bike. Peering into the undergrowth beside the tree, he saw what Kahar had told him: a dirt path, barely visible. He got off his bike and killed the engine. He looked up at the large tree, feeling the hairs on his neck bristle. The tree had grey bark, and stood out ominously. It was as if it was guarding the small dirt path. Ishak shivered, and turned his attention to the footpath. It was overgrown with shrubs and weeds, but it was there. He drew in a deep breath. He took a bagpack he had brought with him and a flashlight. He switched the flashlight on, and headed up the footpath.

As he walked he reminded himself not to look back; it was pitch black. He had passed by a village en route here, but further up the road he used the houses got sparser until all there was on the sides of the road was dark forest. Now, walking up the footpath with only a flashlight as illumination, Ishak was gripped by incredible fear. What he was about to do could only be done by night, as Kahar had told him. And he had spent the previous night making preparations: blood of a chicken, some fruit and a spoon. He thought it was crazy, but if this could get him RM60 000 and maybe more, he would do it.

Slowly he walked up the footpath in the darkness, his hands trembling, his breathing ragged. Sweat wet his brows. He continued walking. He noticed the sounds of insects began to die out. Finally it was quiet except for his footfalls. Occasionally he tripped on a root or rock, but he kept on going. His life perhaps depended on it.

After walking into the jungle for perhaps 20 minutes or so, his flashlight fell upon an object raised 2 feet above the ground. It looked like a tombstone, Ishak thought. He moved his light upon the object, inspecting it. He saw tell-tale signs of people, perhaps people who were as desperate as he is right now, around the object: spoons, seeds, plastic cups and bags. There was a foul smell in the air, which made him uneasy. The object itself was now overgrown with creepers; he set down his bagpack and using his free hand, tore off the plants. What was beneath the creepers scared the hell out of him; the object was an idol in the form of a naked man with bulging eyes and large, sharp teeth. He closed his eyes and remembered what Kahar had told him two nights ago.

"You go to Kemensah; but first you need the blood from a chicken, some fruit, preferrably bananas and durian, and a spoon. Then at night, go to Kemensah. Follow the main road until it gets smaller and you come across a large, grey tree. You won't miss it. When you find it, look closely near the roots. You'd see a footpath, which may be hidden from view. Go walk up the path. You will have to keep on walking until you find a stone idol", Kahar had said.

So here was Ishak, in front of the creepy stone idol. He was trembling, feeling cold sweat all over his body. He kneeled in front of it and grabbed his bag pack. He remembered the second part of Kahar's story.

"When you find the idol, kneel down in front of it. Lay out the blood, fruit and spoon in front of it", Kahar had said, so Ishak was now doing as he was told. "Then", Kahar had said, "you say this:"

"O he who resides in stone; i bring thee gifts to satiate thy hunger, and in turn i wish for thee to satiate mine"

Ishak said the words, shivering in fright as he did so. But his need was great, and he put that above his fear. He remembered the last part of Kahar's story: "Say it, wait a moment, and He Who Resides In Stone Will Appear. This is the hard part; you must not run! Wait, give him your gifts, and let him satiate his hunger first. This is important!! Only when his hunger is satiated will he offer you three wishes. And wish carefully!! He will grant them but be wary of what you say! And remember, you can only ask him this favor once! He will not entertain return customers, so to speak. Above all: be brave!"

Now Ishak waited. A few minutes passed by. Ishak was beginning to think that Kahar was pulling his leg when suddenly he smelled a bad stench in the air, the smell of rotting flesh. Then he noticed it; not at first with his eyes, but with his mind. A dark figure came walking out from behind the stone idol. It's hands pushed aside the plants. Then it stood directly in front of Ishak.

Ishak's eyes went wide in both fear and awe. His nerve strained to keep him there; he felt warm liquid seeping through his pants as he pissed himself. His body was trembling but he willed himself to be there.

The figure that had walked out of the jungle in front of him was vaguely man-like in shape, but it's face was flat, the nose just two holes. The eyes were a watery yellow, huge and bulging out of the sockets. The mouth was wide and large, with huge, crooked teeth and saliva dripping out. The creature's black skin was covered in rough but sparse hairs, and the limbs were long but disjointed, as if broken in different places. The creature stared at his Ishak, it's breathing deep and rumbling.

"What it is that thou want from me?", the thing spoke, it's voice full of malice and evil. Ishak soiled his pants, but did not notice it. Somehow he managed to stay in place.

"I.. I bring you gifts..", Ishak said, showing the creature the plastic bag of chicken blood, the fruits and the spoon. The creature eyes the offerings, and smiled a malignant, toothy smile. It remained quiet as it began to drink the blood and eat the fruits. Curiously, the creature took the spoon and held it in its hand. A few moments passed; Ishak somehow became calmer and bolder, despite the smell of urine and shit in his pants. Finally the creature turned to him.

"For thy offering to me I may grant you three wishes; anything you want. be wise and quick, for I do not have much patience", the creature said, the voice now somewhat gentler but still terrifying.

Ishak took a deep breath. This was it! He could get his RM 60 000 and live; but then he thought; if he could wish for anything, then why bother wishing for Rm60000? In fact, he might as well wish for his own wealth, or the deaths of Tommy and his no good thugs, or to be good looking and rich. He had three wishes, and he could wish for anything! Feeling bolder, Ishak looked at the creature. He decided his first wish would be infinite wealth.

"I wish for..", Ishak said, but just as he said it, some small, unseen animal bit his foot and he in pain he exclaimed "..argh lan***!!!", which was a Chinese word for penis. He placed his hand on where he was bit, feeling for any injury.

But suddenly the creature said "Very well. Your first wish is granted". Ishak turned to the creature in horror, wondering what it was he wished for. He got his answer when he suddenly felt itchy all over his body. Then the itch turned to pain as suddenly his body became run with protrusions, which emerged from his skin. He felt his hands all over his body, looking at his skin as the protrusions grew longer and formed appendages. In shock he realized he had said "I wish for" and exclaimed 'lan***' in surprise. He realized that his body was being overgrown by male genitals!

A few minutes later the sensations stopped; but Ishak now observed that he was covered from head to toe in genitalia; it was an absurd sight, and Ishak felt terrified. The creature, on the other hand, just looked at him indifferently. Ishak's sight was impaired by the 'appendages' which even grew on his forehead. What now? he thought. He had wasted his first wish, and now had no choice but to use up his second to rid him of the extra organs.

"Please", Ishak said. "Make all these lan***s disappear. I wish for them all to disappear"

The creature nodded. "Very well; your second wish, granted", it said.

And suddenly, as sudden as they had popped out of his body, the organs began to disappear. Ishak looked relieved bit by bit as the organs shrank and disappeared in front of his eyes. He rubbed his hands over his body again to make sure, when he felt something odd. His eyes widened when he realized what it was, and as if to confirm it, he looked inside his pants. His manhood was gone. There was simply nothing down there. His second wish had made them all disappear.

He looked stunned, and incredibly began to weep. This was not happening, he thought.

All thought of money went out of his mind. He did not want to live his life an incomplete person, even if it meant his life would be spared by paying off Tommy if he wished for money on his third wish. Incredibly Ishak was thinking that maybe he deserved to die, but he wanted to die a complete human being. He had blown his chances.

"You have one final wish; make it quick for I wish to slumber", the creature said solemnly. Ishak, now weeping, abruptly said:

"Please, I want to be back to my original state". Ishak knew that by wishing so he was essentially signing his own death warrant. Tommy would surely kill him now. But strangely, the thought of having no manhood frightened him more at the moment. I must be crazy, he thought.

"I wish to revert back to my original state", he said again, weeping, finalizing his wish. The creature nodded.

"It is done then. I will leave now", it said. Then it walked backward, back into the darkness of the jungle, and simply disappeared. The jungle was quiet.

Ishak was nowhere to be seen. His clothes lay bundled in front of the stone idol, his flashlight by lying on the jungle floor. The backpack he had brought was open and sat there like a creature with an open mouth. But Ishak was nowhere in sight..

No normal person would pass by this place. But if by some divine intervention someone suddenly came to be there, and that someone inspected the bundle of clothes, that someone would make a strange and perhaps gruesome discovery.

Inside the bundle of clothes, hidden amongst the folds and creases, was all that was left of Ishak: a foetus.

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Love, Together Until Death.

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Azhar slowly pushed open the door. The room smelled of medicine and stale air, and of musty sheets. He glanced at the bed, looking at the thin, frail figure shrouded beneath blankets. The figure was breathing shallowly, it's chest rising and falling in short, almost abrupt intervals. It was his wife, Hayati.

Azhar's heart broke at the sight of his wife. He was moved to tears looking at her decaying state of life. Hayati was now only a shadow of her former self. Azhar wiped his eyes, and walked towards the bed, sitting slowly on the chair beside it. Hayati turned her head ever so slightly towards him, the movement looking strained and painful.

"Sayang, how are you doing..?", Azhar asked, despite being fully aware of the condition of his beloved wife. As an answer Hayati only smiled weakly, and slowly blinked her eyes. The smile was a ghost of the warm, wide one it once was. Azhar held her hand in his.

"Sayang, would you like some food or drink? I can make it for you", Azhar said. He was restraining himself from crying. But looking at his wife in a state of sickness, it was proving much too difficult. Part of the reason he had offered to get some sustenance for Hayati was because it was aching him to see her like this.

Hayati smiled again. She said in a soft and raspy whisper, "Can I please have some of the chocolate pudding from yesterday and a glass of warm tea?".

Azhar nodded, bending over to kiss Hayati gently on the forehead. "Wait a moment alright?". He got up and out of the room, glancing back to see that Hayati had already closed her eyes. Maybe, Azhar thought, even opening her eyelids was painful. He made his way to the kitchen. He filled up a kettle to make some hot water and set it on the stove. He leaned on the kitchen cabinet, sighing.

Hayati was suffering from systemic lupus. It was a condition where her own immune system was turning against her, essentially causing her anti-bodies to 'rebel' and attack her own body. There was no cure, and despite treatment to delay the inevitable, her last visit to the doctors made it clear: she was going to die.

That was a year ago. It was terrible news to hear. Azhar remembered that both of them had cried when the doctors told them that there was nothing left to do. So they had accepted the facts, and had tried to live on like normal. Except that Hayati's condition got worse day to day. Now, it seemed, it was only a matter of time. And time seemed short indeed.

Azhar loved his wife. They had been married for 6 years now. They were still childless, although they are trying to conceive. Or were, he thought with a deep pain in his heart. He shook his head, not wanting to think of such morbid matters. Instead he focused on the happier times with Hayati, the times before the disease seemingly took their happiness away from them.

They had met during their final year in university. He was a final year law student, and she was the artsy girl. Their first meeting was a blind date, arranged by his then housemate. It had been awkward when they had met, he remembered. He had somewhat over-dressed, wearing a neat striped shirt tucked into his jeans with black loafers. Hayati, on the other hand, had come in a faded t-shirt, a bandanna around her head, 3/4 jeans with cut off bottoms and slippers.

In spite of that, they got to know each other fast, and soon romance blossomed. They were seemingly fascinated by each other's differences; he was the studious, neat type while she was a fun loving and somewhat carefree soul. But when they fell in love, it was a love personified by a single element: strength.

Azhar rubbed his face with his hands. He glanced at the stove and realized the flame was not turned on. Cursing, he twisted the ignition and the flame came bursting into life. He poured himself a glass of water and waited for the kettle to whistle.

When they had finished university, Azhar immediately got a job at a respected law firm in Kuala Lumpur. Hayati, meanwhile, had somewhat curiously opted to become a kindergarten teacher. They led happy, content lives, seeing each other every week at their favorite dating place, The Curve, always meeting up at the fountain just in front of Cineleisure. It was the place where they had first met and shared awkward introductions.

Azhar was almost overwhelmed by just how much Hayati was in love with him. She took care of him so tenderly, and loved him so selflessly that at times he wondered if he was dreaming. Here was this beautiful young woman, with a soul as free as a butterfly, who loved him. Azhar greatly appreciated this, and he loved her in return like no other man would. He would die for her, he supposed, should that day come.

Then they had gotten married; it was the best thing ever to happen to them. They had enjoyed and indulged in every day together, blissfully aware of the love and need they had for each other. They had spent evenings painting in their home, or cooking together. They went to the movies together, visited each other's parents, went on spur-of-the-moment vacations. They were living a dream.

A dream now seemingly shattered by a disease.

The kettle whistled and Azhar broke away from his thoughts. He made a mug of warm sweet tea for Hayati, and went to the fridge to get the chocolate pudding. Then he brought the little snack to the bedroom for his wife.

As he entered he saw that Hayati had sat herself up. The look on her face obviously showed that it had taken her great effort to do so. But Azhar also knew that she attempted it to please him, to show that she can move without his help. He was touched.

"Sayang, I brought you your pudding and tea", he said. He handed Hayati the mug of tea, but insisted that he spoon her the pudding himself. Hayati smiled sweetly at this. She took small sips of warm tea, and that seemed to bring some warmth to her pallid cheeks. Azhar gently and caringly spooned the pudding for her. Hayati took another sip of tea, then suddenly gave a small, weak laugh.

"What's funny dear?", Azhar asked, amused that his wife managed to laugh at whatever it was that was playing in her head.

"Nothing.", Hayati answered and looked at him. "I was just thinking about the day we met.."

Azhar smiled and put a hand on her thigh. "It was a nice day wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was", she said. "I felt so wrong for dressing up like a hippie when you looked ready for dinner at The Shangri-La".

They laughed, the sound filling the room. Azhar glanced at the room, which was formerly a guest room. They no longer shared a bed. It had been her decision. He had honored it. They continued talking about their first date. At first, both of them had been quiet, feeling like the date was a mistake. But then Hayati noticed that Azhar was wearing a Flik-Flak watch, and showed him that she too, was wearing a Flik-Flak watch. That was all it took, strangely. Soon they warmed up to each other and talked through-out the night in front of the fountain, until all the shops at Cineleisure and The Curve were closed, and a night watchman politely asked them to leave.

Before they did, though, they had exchanged phone numbers and e-mails. A few weeks later Azhar proposed to Hayati to be his girlfriend. The rest, as they say, is history.

"Azhar", Hayati called out suddenly. He was now seated on the bed, his back resting on the wall, with Hayati leaning on his shoulder.

"Yes dear?", he said.

"Will you make love to me?"

He was quiet for a moment. They haven't made love for months now. He was afraid it would be straining or stressful for her. And she really didn't seem like she wanted to do it anyway.

"Are you sure?", he asked.

Hayati nodded. "I can't say how much time I have left.."

"Don't say that"

".. you know it's true. So I don't want to leave this world without being with you for one last time, at least", she finished. She then glanced up towards his face and kissed him. Azhar glanced down at her face and saw the beautiful woman he had married six years ago. Soon enough, they came together for what seemed like the final time. Their inhibitions vanished as they sailed a blissful moment in each other's arms, melting away in their love.

"Sleep with me tonight", Hayati said afterwards, lying wrapped in his arms. Then she rested her head in his chest. Azhar gently stroked her hair, and her bare back, painfully aware of how thin she had become, how weak she was. But he was glad they had made love; it brought back a touch of their former days, and seemed to rejuvenate her a little. Strange. Even so, her breathing still came in ragged, shallow gasps.

But it only lasted for that one night they spent together after so many years. In the days that followed, Hayati's condition became worse. Their doctor came for a visit, and privately told Azhar it was now only a matter of days. Azhar took the grave news calmly, and did not tell Hayati. When the time came, she would know. Azhar took leave from work to care for his dying Hayati.

Azhar now slept in the same room. He had brought in a mattress and slept beside Hayati's bed. Hayati grew weaker every day, until she couldn't even bear to talk. But somehow she always found the strength to smile, or give Azhar's hand a light touch, to show that she appreciated what he was doing.

One day, in the wee hours of the morning, when the sun wasn't even out yet, Azhar woke up to the sound of Hayati's whispering voice calling his name. He immediately got up and went to her bedside. Hayati was wearing a nightgown. She looked worse than ever, her body bare bones, her hair messed up and frizzled. Her eyes were sallow, her skin devoid of colour. Her body was trembling ever so slightly. Azhar seemed to sense that the time was coming. He took her fragile hand in his.

"Yes Sayang, what is it?", he asked quietly. Hayati was breathing fast, her breasts hitching up and down. She spoke in ragged words, almost inaudibly.

"Do.. you.. remember when we first met at the fountain?", she said. Azhar nodded.

"I want to go there..."

"We'll go there in the afternoon alright Sayang?", Azhar said, though he doubted that it would come to pass.

"No..", Hayati said, shaking her head slowly from side to side. She was deteriorating. "No, I want to.. go there.. now.."

"Now?", Azhar asked, confused.

"Ye..Yes.. Now.. please.. do you love me?", Hayati turned to him with pain in her eyes. "I wish to go there, where we first met.."

"It's still early, Sayang.."

"I know.. But please.. take me there now.." He heard the plea in her voice. It pained him.

Azhar thought quickly. What harm could it do? And what wouldn't he do for her? In his heart, he knew Hayati was going to pass away soon. Maybe it was alright to honor her wish, even if his mind told him it was ridiculous. He lifted Hayati's grossly light body off the bed and carried her outside. He took her to the car, strapped her in and locked his house. Then they drove the fifteen minutes or so to The Curve, to go the fountain where they had first met. When they arrived, it was still dark. There was barely a soul walking around. Azhar didn't even see a night watchman.

Hayati declined the wheelchair that was kept in the car, instead asking Azhar to carry her to the fountain. He did as he was asked. His heart was racing. It could be any moment now. But why the insistence? he wondered. Then he decided it didn't matter.

They finally reached the fountain. Hayati asked Azhar to sit down, cradling her in his arms. It was cold. Dawn was about an hour away. Azhar glanced around to see if there were anybody else, less they be mistaken for devious characters.

"Azhar, my love..", Hayati said weakly in his arms. He was kneeling beside the fountain, it's jets of water dead, the surface of the water in the pool as still as glass.

"Yes Hayati?", he said. He looked at his wife's face and broke into tears. She looked deathly pale. Almost, he thought with deep horror, corpse-like.

"Azhar my love.. I wanted.. I wanted you to take me here because this is where we first met.. and this is where we always met up.. remember? I want to die here.."

Azhar nodded. Hayati spoke again, despite the obvious stress that was on her. Azhar wept freely now, just waiting for the moment that life be taken away from his beloved wife.

"Azhar my love.. I want to tell you that I love you so much.. and I wanted to thank you for taking care of me all these years we've been together.. I truly appreciate it Sayang.."

"Hush, mengucap Sayang..and I love you too Hayati.. I love you so much. Forever..", Azhar said, kissing Hayati on the forehead.

"Forever?", she asked.

Azhar nodded again. "Forever. I can never love again, after you"

Hayati smiled, and in the darkness, the smiled looked oddly mischievous.

"Hold me and tell me you will love me forever, and that there will never be another but me", Hayati said. Azhar embraced her close to his body, sobbing, knowing her life was draining out of her.

"Sayang, I will love you forever, and there will never be another in my life. I will never love again. You're my last, my everything, I promise", Azhar said with Hayati in his arms. He felt her shallow breathing on his neck.

Then a strange, lucid sensation pierced his neck on the left. Odd, he thought for a moment. Then the sensation turned to excruciating pain as a blade of a knife sliced him across the neck, from left to right. In reaction, and total shock at the abrupt move, Azhar suddenly dropped Hayati out of his arms and put his hands around his neck, and felt hot blood gush out of the cut, saturating his chest. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and Azhar tried to speak when he realized he couldn't do both, as his windpipe was almost severed. Slowly he was losing consciousness as the blood poured and sprayed out of the wound. Azhar fell backwards, his back propped against the fountain's curb. His eyes looked at his Hayati, who was lying on her back on the floor beside him. In her hands was a small kitchen knife. Wildly in the back of his mind he remembered that he had brought the knife to her bedside to cut pieces of fruit for her a few days back. She had somehow pocketed it.

Weakened and stunned, Azhar fell on the side of his face beside Hayati, facing her. His body went into spasms like a slaughtered animal. The blood that was pouring out of his severed arteries and veins pooled around his neck and head, making a crimson puddle. In his dying moments, he heard Hayati speak.

"Sayang, I'm sorry.. I'm sorry it had to be this way.. but.... I had to make sure I would be your only one. I couldn't bear to die knowing that you may..... in the future love someone else... it hurt me.. it hurt me more than the disease ever could.. so I figured.. I figured out a way... but I'm sorry it had to be this way.. Sayang, maafkan Yati.. Azhar, I love you.."

The last image in Azhar's eyes was of Hayati blowing him a kiss, and saying 'Goodbye' , and closing her eyes.

Then, blackness. Nothing.

------------------------------

As the sun rose, Hassan, an elderly watchman about to finish his night-shift, walked along The Curve's 'The Street' towards Cineleisure. As he approached the courtyard containing the fountain that separated The Curve from Cineleisure, his eyes spotted two figures lying motioneless beside the fountain. It looked like people, he thought. Drug addicts? Curious, he made his way to the figures, his hand unconsciously moving to the baton on his waist.

"Ya Allah!", he said when he reached the figures, and immediately he turned away in shock. His complexion went pale, his stomach churning; he felt the bile rise in his throat. Minutes later, still reeling from the sight, Hassan made the call to the police.


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